


Inspect My Soul

by destimushi



Series: The Kink Chronicles [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Bottom Dean, Dom/sub, Inspection, Kink, M/M, O-ring gag, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 06:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11225427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destimushi/pseuds/destimushi
Summary: Cas is so quiet, so distant, and for a moment Dean dreads that maybe he’s not good enough, not up to standard. Why else would Cas take so long to inspect him? Won’t even touch him with his bare hands? Dean takes a shaky breath and swallows the rising panic that threatens to overwhelm him.When Dean agreed to a role play scene, he didn't expect to feel so exposed and found wanting.





	Inspect My Soul

If Dean is honest with himself, he finds this whole thing just a touch silly. He looks up and down the hall, his bare toes digging into lush carpet, and takes a steadying breath as he tries to wipe the grin off his face. Cas’ trench coat is rough against his skin, and with every shift, Dean remembers just how naked he is underneath it. 

He raps his knuckles on the door and puffs out his cheeks to ease the urge to smile. He’s supposed to play the part for Cas. Even if he finds all this cheesy, being good for Cas is not. The lock clicks, but the door doesn’t open. Dean frowns and glances up and down the hall once more, a seed of uncertainty burrowing through him. He waits, and waits some more, and when Cas doesn’t come to the door, he grips the handle and pushes his way into the hotel room tentatively. 

“What took you so long?” Cas’ voice is distant, laced with a hint of displeasure that churns Dean’s stomach. He’s sitting in the only chair facing the door. His tie is loose, the top two buttons of his dress shirt undone, and his black trousers stretch obscenely tight across his crotch and thighs as his right ankle rests on his left knee. Even his shoes are gleaming in the harsh glow of the overhead light. Everything about Cas screams a man used to having his way. Powerful, dominant, and sexy as hell.  

“I wasn’t sure—” Dean starts, only to be cut off abruptly with a wave of Cas’ gloved hand. Black leather gloves. Huh. 

“I don’t care for excuses. Your master will hear of this.” 

His master. Dean’s supposed to be a pet on loan from another master. A pretty piece for Cas to use as he pleased. That thought, at least, is appealing, and Dean’s cock twitches in agreement. His face must be doing something ridiculous because Cas bolts out of his chair and swallows the distance between them in angry strikes. Gloved fingers wind through Dean’s hair, the sticky friction of leather catches the strands, and Dean hisses in pain. 

“You think this is funny?” Cas’ eyes glow with blue fire, and Dean’s knees grow weak.

“N-no.”

“No what?”

“No, sir.” 

“We’ll work on your training later. Right now I need to make sure you’re up to standard.” Cas’ fingers loosen, and he gives Dean’s neck a gentle squeeze before letting go. That was Cas, his partner in life and death, that was his dominant asking if everything is still okay, and Dean nods twice then blinks twice, both movements deliberate. Cas grins then, and says, “Go on, display yourself for me.” 

***

Dean always blushes the prettiest shade of pink when he’s excited by something that shames him. Cas swallows the bitter taste of protective irritation whenever Dean’s ashamed of his own pleasure; Dean deserves all the pleasures in the world, and no one should shame him for it. 

Dean fumbles with the buttons on the trench coat—Cas will never get tired of seeing Dean in his clothes—and folds the garment neatly and puts it on the bed before turning around to face Cas. His feet move apart, his hands laced behind his neck. Chin up, eyes down, and Cas bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling when Dean’s cock filled and bobbed to attention. 

It’s a simple position, but one that puts everything on display. Dean’s laying himself bare for Cas, putting himself in Cas’ care and trusting Cas to know what’s best for him. It’s that same rush of headiness every time Dean does something new for him, a feeling he will never get enough of. 

He circles Dean, mindful of every twitch of muscle and every goosebump that pops along Dean’s flesh as if Cas’ gaze is a physical touch, and when he comes back around to face his sub, Dean’s breathing has slowed, and his expression is blissfully blank. 

Cas drags a finger down Dean’s jaw, following the line of his neck, before drawing back up to grip Dean’s chin. He turns Dean’s head to the left, then the right, and makes a soft clucking noise before letting go. Dean’s gaze is downcast, and he keeps it that way as Cas runs his hands along the curve of Dean’s shoulders and up his arms, the leather of his glove catching on smooth skin as he examines every inch of Dean. 

When he’s done stroking from one arm to the other, Cas returns to face Dean. The blush had deepens and coloured the apples of his cheeks, and the smattering of freckles pop like constellations. “Open,” Cas says, and digs the fingers of his free hand into his thigh to keep his voice neutral. He was the one that wanted to play out this fantasy of disinterested dom; he needs to act his part. 

Dean’s gaze flicks up for a moment, his eyes widen, and he knows the delay in obeying an order will earn him punishment later. Cas allows himself an indulgent smirk then; even on full display, his sub still manages to be a brat. Dean’s lips part as his eyes close, and Cas thrusts two fingers into the offered orifice and strokes Dean’s tongue. He pushes further, forcing Dean’s jaw to slacken, and when saliva gathers in the corners of Dean’s mouth, Cas pulls back and brushes the wet leather along Dean’s bottom lip. 

He trails the same two fingers down Dean’s chin, along his throat, and drags a wet trail to Dean’s left nipple. The rise and fall of Dean’s chest quicken, and the sensitive nub puckers in anticipation. Cas pulls the pad of the leather gloves across it gently, rubbing back and forth, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger and pinching it softly. Dean’s trembling, his breathing more laboured, and just as he’s starting to pant—his mouth still open because Cas hasn’t said he can close it—Cas moves onto the right nipple and gives it the same feather-light treatment. 

Silence descends upon them like a shroud, broken only when Dean can’t help but gasp when Cas pinches his abused nipples extra hard. Cas allows it, and abandons the sensitive buds only when he’s satisfied with just how red and hard and swollen they’d become. Dean’s stomach clenches as Cas’ hand travels lower, stroking skin that would be warm to the touch if he wasn’t wearing leather gloves. Dean’s cock jerks, and a pearl of moisture gathers at the tip, growing in size as Cas’ touch inches closer and closer to the junction of Dean’s thighs until the slit can no longer contain it, and the droplet turns into a sticky string as it drips to the floor. He walks around Dean, letting his hand trail along the hardlines of his abs and around his hips to land on the round of Dean’s ass. 

Cas will touch Dean’s cock when Cas wants to, and not a second sooner. 

***

Dean can’t think, can barely breathe. Can’t focus on anything except the weight of Cas’ hand on his ass, his fingers massaging the globe of muscle slowly. The whole thing is supposed to be a silly roleplay, but Dean’s surprised to find the fear pooling in the pit of his stomach is real. He can’t help but twitch every time Cas’s gloved fingers drag across him, the sticky leather judging him in their disconnected touch. 

Cas is so quiet, so distant, and for a moment Dean dreads that maybe he’s not good enough, not up to standard. Why else would Cas take so long to inspect him? Won’t even touch him with his bare hands? Dean takes a shaky breath and swallows the rising panic that threatens to overwhelm him. 

He feels the smooth rub of leather shoes against his heels, and before he fully understood the meaning of that touch, Cas is kicking his legs further apart, and soft leather brushes against his hole. Dean gasps, his cock blurts another sticky string of precome, and Cas presses his finger against his puckered ring in gentle circles. 

“Hmm, you’re so sensitive,” Cas says mildly, and the tip of his finger threatens to breach Dean’s body. “You like that?” 

Dean keens and nods, but he doesn’t speak, hasn’t been permitted to yet, and Cas gives his hole a gentle slap before pulling his hand away. Cas saunters to the duffel on the desk and comes back holding a large O-ring gag. He wedges the metal between Dean's teeth, gentle hands reaching behind his head and secure the straps. Dean tests the metal between his teeth, runs his tongue against the cool surface, and his heart skips a beat when Cas sweeps one leather covered finger around the ring. 

Cas returns to his chair, still regarding Dean with that same mild look, and Dean forgets how to breathe beneath that disinterested gaze. Are they finished? Did he pass? Or is Cas going to send him away in disgrace because he couldn't stand still, because he'd made too much noise. But Cas gagged him. Would he do that if he was going to send Dean away?

“Turn round, elbows and knees, present for me.” Cas’ voice cuts through the cacophony of voices in Dean's head, and the command becomes the center of his universe. Dean drops down without hesitation, every molecule thrumming with a need to please Cas. He spreads his knees, pushes his ass into the air, and leans forward, his forearms taking his weight. Dean tilts his hips back, his back arching as his chest presses toward the carpet, and waits.  

Minutes pass, and it might as well have been eons as Dean forces himself to hold still, breathing in through his nose and out through his open mouth. He shifts his jaw, and metal grinds against his teeth as saliva dribbled down his chin. Dean stares at the door, ears straining as he fights the urge to dip his head and sneak a peek at Cas. The room’s warm, Cas must have turned up the heat, but Dean can’t help the shiver rippling through him when cool leather finally lands on his flank. 

Dean hates the glove. Its surface steals the smooth glide of Cas’ skin and leaches the heat from Cas’ touch. He yearns for Cas’ skin to slide against his, desperate for any connection to reassure him, ground him and level him out. The glove travels higher, and the palms of Cas’ hands cup Dean’s ass and knead, pulling his cheeks apart and pushing them together in unhurried circles. 

“You’ll be punished for your earlier insolence,” Cas says, his voice light and floating just above Dean. “But you’re so pretty, and you try so hard”—leather rubs between Dean’s cheeks, smoothes over his hole and strokes past his perineum to tickle his balls—”to be good for me.” 

Hands pull away from Dean, and the loss of contact, even if it’s just leather, leaves Dean wanting. The soft pop of a cap echoes, and suddenly the leather is back, slick and colder as Cas teases the rim of his hole. “I’m going to open you up. Then I’ll decide which end to use.” Without warning, the finger—made thicker covered in all that leather—pushes forward, past the puckered ring of muscle and curls into Dean. 

He gasps, his tongue rolling past the metal ring to hang over his lip, and Dean chokes back a sob when a second finger plunges into him. Cas is opening him up rougher and faster than he’d ever done, but the pressure and pain is a jolt of burning pleasure shooting up his spine. 

Cas is prepping him, finds him worthy, says he’s pretty, and he’s going to used Dean how he sees fit. And Dean wants to be used, wants to be the warm, wet hole that brings Cas to the brink of mind-numbing pleasure and push him past the point of no return. Wants to feel Cas’ fingers buried in his hair or digging into his hips, thick cock hard and pulsing into Dean, come coating Dean’s insides like a brand. 

Dean pushes back, and a sharp slap lands on the globe of his ass. He startles, pain riding the coattails of intense heat, and his breath catches when Cas’ bare hand lands in the same spot. “That’s for hesitating when I gave you a command.” Another crack of skin against skin and Dean jumps despite his best efforts to hold still.

There’s a third finger in his ass, the leather slick and smooth as Cas’ fingers twist and scissors, stroking Dean’s insides with astonishing precision. When the next slap lands on the back of Dean’s thigh, Cas finds his prostate, and the combined sensation of pained pleasure and pleasurable pain knocks the very breath from his lungs. 

His cock is hard, the tip leaking profusely, and Dean’s sweaty knees slide along the carpet. It burns, but even that is a pleasant tingle when Dean’s riding that razor sharp edge of bliss. His jaw aches, he can’t seem to stop clenching around the ring, and when Cas’s fingers pull out with a slick twist, Dean was ready to do anything to have Cas’ cock slide into him, ass or throat. 

“God, look at you,” Cas coos and runs his hands—both of them without gloves—down Dean’s trembling thighs and up over his hip. Dean keens, blinking sweat out of his eyes, and a full-body shudder rolls through him when Cas’ hips press against his ass. “If only you can see how pretty your ass looks, skin pink and red with my print.”

The cotton is rough against his sensitive skin, but Dean presses back and grinds his ass into Cas’ crotch, feeling the steel-hard cock saw up and down his crack. Maybe that’ll earn him another spanking, would be worth if it Cas would just shove his cock in him already—

“I think I’m going to use your mouth after all.” Cas pulls away, and Dean’s hips dip back in vain. The toes of Cas’ shoes step into Dean’s field of vision, and strong fingers yank Dean’s head back. “Knees, arms behind your back.” 

Dean struggles to his knees and clasps his hands around the opposite elbow behind his back. The grip in his hair tightens, and Dean feels his head tilt back until his eyes meet Cas’ gaze. There’s an intensity behind the blue halos of Cas’ eyes, and a weight drapes over Dean’s shoulders, pulling him under even as Cas guides his mouth up to meet Cas’ dick.

When the head of Cas’ cock pushes down Dean’s throat, his nose buried in the dark curls at the juncture of Cas’ thighs, the ball of uncertainty in his gut settles, and all is right in the world. Cas pulls back and slams his hips forward, rhythm demanding as each bruising thrust hits the back of Dean’s throat before sliding down. Dean’s neck aches, his throat raw, but he’s never felt more alive than this moment when he’s wrapped around Cas, and the whole world boils down to the salty taste flooding his tongue. 

He’s good enough for Cas, and that, is good enough for Dean.    

 

 


End file.
